


relief next to me

by ModernMyth



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Reunions, before we all get jossed, generally vague season four spoilers, obligatory post-monster reunion fic, title is from tegan and sara, very specific 4.05 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 03:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18422208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernMyth/pseuds/ModernMyth
Summary: “I…” Eliot sighs. “Do you remember when I broke through? To talk to you?”“Peaches and plums, motherfucker,” Quentin mumbles. “Of course I remember. It’s what kept me fighting.”--After taking down the Monster, Quentin wakes up with Eliot by his side. Finally.





	relief next to me

**Author's Note:**

> I reaaaaaallllly wanted to get out a little post-monster reunion fic before tonight's episode, so here we are. Maybe not my best work, but I certainly enjoyed writing it. Season four spoilers abound.

 

When Eliot comes to, he is laying in an incredibly comfortable bed in a room he does not recognize, with a sleeping Margo pressed up against his side, her hand placed delicately over his heart. He groans. His whole body is sore and exhausted, head pounding, and he feels like he has six months of sleep to catch up on. Maybe more.

He shifts, trying to stretch his stiff muscles without jostling Margo. He fails, of course, and his darling best friend is awake and fawning over him within seconds.

“Thank god, Eliot,” Margo whispers, voice rough with emotion. “Thank god.”

“Bambi,” he chokes out, and then her arms are around him.

“Don’t you ever do anything like that again,” she says in a stern voice. “I thought you were _dead,_ El.”

Eliot makes a small noise in the back of his throat. “I’m sorry.”

They stay like that for long minutes, Margo’s arms wrapped tightly around him, until he can’t help but ask.

“Where’s Q?”

She frowns, pauses a moment too long.

“Bambi?” His voice is laced with panic now. “Where’s Q?”

“He’s in the bedroom next door. He’s...not awake yet.”

The hesitation in her voice makes terror creep it’s way into his veins.

“Exactly how long has he been asleep?”

“Almost three days.”

Eliot’s breath hitches.

“Take me to him. Now.”

 

\--

 

Teddy is laughing, dancing in circles to some Fillorian nursery rhyme Arielle is singing at the top of her lungs, beaming. Eliot is leaning against the front door, beside Quentin, a small smile playing on his lips.

Quentin nudges him with his elbow, then rests his chin on Eliot’s shoulder. Eliot’s smile widens. He turns and presses a kiss to Quentin’s forehead.  

“He looks so happy,” Quentin murmurs, gesturing to a playful Teddy, spinning delightedly in circles with his mother.

“He is,” Eliot reminds him. “You two made a good one.”

“Pretty sure it’s got a lot to do with your help raising him.”

Eliot huffs a laugh. “I always have been rather influential.”

Teddy giggles. He and Arielle collapse into a dizzy pile on the daybed. They have a family picnic on the mosaic, fresh fruit and cucumber sandwiches that Eliot spends twenty minutes cutting into perfect triangles.

It’s only mid-day when Quentin’s eyes flutter, and then their surroundings are dark. A full moon suddenly hangs over them. Arielle and Teddy blink out of existence, and there is only Eliot.

He doesn’t look right. His hair is too long, and his eyes look flat and dead.

_“Quen-tin.”_

And he is not Eliot at all.

The Monster cannot be here, of all places. Not the mosaic. Literally _anywhere_ else.

He smiles at Quentin, slow and wide and _wrong,_ and Quentin wants to scream. But the sound gets caught in his throat.

There is a strange flash of light, then everything fades to black.

Quentin is not sure how long he is in the dark before his eyes flicker open.  

 

\--

 

The first thing Quentin notices when finally wakes up is that someone is holding his hand. He waits for his vision to adjust, takes in his surroundings, and realizes that the person holding his hand is _Eliot._

At least, he hopes to hell it’s Eliot.

He doubts the Monster would want to hold his hand after what Quentin remembers of their banishment attempt.

Eliot is asleep, snoring lightly in a chair beside Quentin’s bed.

His hair is still long and too greasy, but he has changed out of that blood-soaked graphic tee that Quentin last remembers him in. The dark circles under his eyes have improved just a little, and Quentin wants to ask how long he has been laying in this bed. Long enough for Eliot to join him by his side, apparently. Eliot’s got a small frown on his face as he sleeps, and Quentin wonders idly if he too is being plagued by nightmares.

Quentin strokes Eliot’s hand with his thumb, ever so gently, and Eliot’s eyes snap open.

“Q…” he breathes, eyes wide, and Quentin knows in his _bones_ that this is his Eliot.

_Finally._

“Hey,” Quentin says, dry voice cracking, and Eliot grabs a bottle of water from beside them, uncapping it and passing it to him. Quentin takes several shaky gulps.

Eliot reaches out, wiping a stray droplet of water from Quentin’s mouth, and Quentin can’t help but draw back sharply, on instinct.

“I’m sorry,” Eliot whispers, pulling his hand back and away from him. “I...wasn’t thinking. Would you…” he swallows hard. “Would you like me to go?”

“No,” Quentin rasps, “God no, please don’t go.”

“Okay,” Eliot replies in a low voice, seemingly not knowing what to do with himself. He clasps his hands in his lap. “How do you feel?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be my line,” Quentin answers softly. “How long have I been out?”

“A little over three days.”

“Shit. That’s kind of...a _while._ ”

“I noticed,” Eliot adds in a dry voice. “Everyone’s been worried.” He shifts in his chair. “I should probably - ”

Quentin shakes his head rapidly. “Not yet. Please.” He reaches for Eliot’s hand again. “Could you...would you mind…”

“What is it, Q? Anything you need.”

“Could you just…” Quentin’s voice is soft. He tugs on Eliot’s hand. “C’mere?”

Quentin moves, scooting over to make room for Eliot on the mattress.

Light sparks in Eliot’s eyes, and he crawls in beside Quentin, facing him, separated by mere inches.

“El,” Quentin’s voice breaks. _“El.”_

The next thing he knows, he is in Eliot’s arms, sobs shuddering through him as he wets Eliot’s shirt with his tears. Quentin can feel gentle fingers running through his hair, soft lips ghosting across his forehead, and he takes a steadying breath.

He whispers against Eliot’s chest, “I was so scared I would never get you back.”

“I’m so sorry, Q. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he replies, voice thick with tears.

“I have a _lot_ to apologize for,” Eliot corrects him, and Quentin’s brows furrow with confusion.

He pulls back to look at Eliot. “None of this stuff with the Monster was your fault.”

“Debatable,” Eliot replies, “But not what I was talking about, either.”

Quentin frowns. “What exactly _are_ you talking about?”

“I…” Eliot sighs. “Do you remember when I broke through? To talk to you?”

“Peaches and plums, motherfucker,” Quentin mumbles. “Of course I remember. It’s what kept me fighting.”

Eliot smiles at him affectionately, trailing a hand along Quentin’s spine.

“It took a lot of work to break through like that, to escape my own mind and talk to you. I had to sift through my worst memories; my most traumatic, my most shameful. I watched them over and over, trying to figure out which one was going to help me get a message to you. Do you want to know which one it was?” he asks deliberately.

Quentin nods, eyeing Eliot expectantly.

“It wasn’t when I accidentally killed someone, or anything to do with my shitty homophobic family. Not when I had to kill Mike. It wasn’t even when I imprisoned my best friend. It…” Eliot takes a deep breath. “It was the day we got back from Fillory of the past. When you asked me if I wanted to give it a shot. Give _us_ a shot. And I…” He closes his eyes. “I turned you down. I told you it wasn’t us. Quentin…” his voice falters. “Out of everything I have done, that is the worst. The most shameful. And I am _so sorry.”_

Fresh tears make tracks down Quentin’s face.

“El, what are you…”

“I was scared, Q. Scared to ruin things between us, scared to be happy, scared I was too fucked up for you and that I’d just hurt you in the long run. Which, of course, is what I wound up doing anyway.” Eliot’s eyes are shining with tears now. “It was never that I didn’t want you. I loved you then, and I love you now. And I’m sorry if I made you feel otherwise.”

Quentin stares at him with wide eyes. He bunches his shaking hands into the material of Eliot’s shirt. This time when Eliot reaches forward to wipe away his tears, Quentin leans into the contact. It’s all so much - the speech, the feelings it’s invoked, the heated look in Eliot’s eyes - Quentin is at a complete loss for words.

After a long moment, Eliot clears his throat. “Look, I know it’s been months, and I understand if this is all too little too late. I already had my chance, and I fucked it up. But I just needed you to know. That if you ever want to ask me again, what you asked that day at Whitespire...I swear to god my answer will be different.”

Quentin still feels too overwhelmed to answer. He’s being offered everything he wants on a silver platter, and now _he_ is the one that is too terrified to act on it.

Eliot seems panicked now, reading Quentin’s silence as rejection, and he begins to backtrack.

“Look, Q, I’m sorry. You just woke up. Bringing this up right now was a terrible idea, I don’t know why the fuck I thought - ”

Quentin screws up his courage. He still may not know what to say, but he knows exactly what he wants to do.

He leans in, cups Eliot’s cheek, and cuts him off with a kiss.

They may not be able to fix everything that has gone wrong with them, right here, right now. They’ve got a lifetime’s worth of issues to address. It will take plenty of work, much more than any minor mending. But with Eliot’s tender lips against his, Quentin knows that, for today, this is more than enough for him.

 

 

 


End file.
